


Bridges

by Sanemsie



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Angst and Romance, Anxiety, Aurthur Isn't that great with talking about his feelings, F/M, Self-Doubt, The making of a king is a long and arduous road
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-01 03:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17236100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanemsie/pseuds/Sanemsie
Summary: He wants to ask if its normal to feel so afraid, even now that the fighting is over, to feel like he’s drowning, even as he treads water so easily---A post-movie fic





	1. 1

It's the night before his coronation and Arthur, who can’t really say he’s particularly proud of the situation, can’t find his keys.

 

He’s drunk, out of all things, and he can hear the sea calling somewhere off in the distance, even over the music and the noise of the bar that lives on as he stumbles away towards his truck. The pull of it is ferocious and as never ceasing as its always been. It follows him everywhere, like a shadow of some kind, one with a pulse that never dies, one that stares him down and refuses to back off without a fight. Arthur frowns at the drunken analogy, lets the alcohol try its hand at numbing whatever it is that connects him to the sea, frowns deeper when it fails and the water continues to sing, urging him back with a power that scares him, that perhaps he’ll never be able to escape

 

It’s all a load of bullshit and he grunts, patting his shirt pocket in frustration

 

 _They must have fallen out on one of the stools_ , he thinks, searching his back pocket again and cursing the damn things under his breath. He's about to turn back to look for them when he feels her presence suddenly, and through a haze that he imagines is not particularly becoming of a soon-to-be king

 

She’s soaked, having just emerged from the sea and she watches him carefully first, and then with a wildfire burning in her gaze that he comes to realize is just entirely inextinguishable. He likes that about her, he decides, how much everything always seems to matter.

 

“You’re a mess” she says, because it’s true and because he’s standing outside of a bar looking around for his keys like an idiot

 

He doesn’t argue, only grunts in her direction before disappearing back into the bar

 

It was a dickish thing to do, true, to run off like that on a night like this and maybe he’d been expecting her to show up all along, maybe he’d wanted it, wanted her to see first hand what he was at his core, what he’s always been, _what he’ll always be_ \---just so she didn't get her hopes up too high, that is. “A King” he scoffs, the sound of it swallowed whole by the voices and music that fill up the crowded space, _a magic trident won’t make me a king_

 

He re emerges from the bar, keys in hand, avoiding the look on her face that blinks at him through the neon glow of the bar signs. It’s cold at this time of year though it doesn’t seem to affect her in the slightest. She stands there, looming over him somehow, the salty sheen on her skin winking at him like some kind of torturous joke that life has apparently decided to play on him

 

“Your people need you” she says, after he finally succeeds in getting his car door to unlock.  

 

Her voice is strong like the atlantean steel that had ripped through his shoulder not that long ago and he looks up, pinned there by the way her chin juts out in stubborn determination.

 

He could say a lot of things right then though what he eventually goes with is the easiest of them all, dripping with sarcasm and with something just a little sadder that he just never gets around to naming

 

“Woah” he says, palm coming up to his temple “ _deja vu_ \---help me out, am I going crazy here, Princess? or have we already had this conversation?” it comes out all wrong and then there's hurt in her eyes. Its a flash, he almost misses it and after only a second it’s replaced by something colder, something that he imagines is that sense of duty she’s always going on about. He wants to swallow that look in her eyes, wants to feel it inside him, to let it tear him apart, if only just so he’ll never be the cause of it again. Some kind of apology makes it up his throat but dies quickly in his mouth before it can make any kind of amend.

 

Like most things, they don’t really talk about it--not on the car ride to his house, not on the swim back to the kingdom, not when she tries to bring it up before they go their separate ways for the night. Maybe she understands his reluctance or maybe she’s just trying to give him space. Regardless, despite his not really being a man that has a way with words, once it's all said and done and he’s crowned the king of atlantis, he reaches out for her hand and she lets him take it.

 

Its crowded, with just the entire kingdom there to celebrate his coronation and so he whispers, his voice meant to be heard by only her “You know-” he starts, the edge of a fiery curl tickling a little at his beard as he leans in close “I was right about the whole ‘ _you shouldn’t judge a place before seeing what it’s like_ ’ thing”

 

She understands somehow, what he means to say, _I’m not going anywhere_ , and she smiles a little, just enough to balm away at his nerves

 

“You really are insufferable, King Arthur”


	2. 2

It doesn’t take him long to realize that, well, being king kind of sucks.

 

It's not that he expected it _not_ to suck--he knew it would suck, actually, which is precisely why he had refused in the first place and now, a few weeks into the new gig, he’s more or less convinced that the shiny gold trident currently taking up residence perched against his hip _can’t_ be the only prerequisite for kingship, or it shouldn’t be, anyways. He's concluded this based mostly off the fact that he’s pretty shit at making decisions, just in general, and no matter what their sacred law says, no magical armor, no matter how badass, makes him even remotely qualified to make decisions for an _entire kingdom_

 

Because, well, that's just crazy

 

like, _crazy_ crazy

 

Like, _lets-sacrifice-our-own-queen-for-declining-an-arranged-marriage-and-running-away-to-the-surface_ crazy

 

Which, at least in his book, is pretty damn crazy

 

Its Vulko who explains it all eventually, though it still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense

 

“No wonder everyone in this place is so uptight” he mutters, once the lecture on sacred law and civic duty comes to an end “I mean, no offense old man, but someone’s gotta realize how _insane_ all this sounds, right?”

 

Vulko, who doesn’t look impressed, but won’t interrupt his king either, only watches on as Arthur begins a full fleshed out rant which, despite being a total diva moment, Arthur is pretty sure is entirely justified  

 

“These kind of batshit laws are exactly how we end up that close-” he says, making an inch with his fingers “to allowing some egocentric maniac from almost blowing up the _entire world_ ” he means it metaphorically, of course--except for the egocentric maniac part, which is an understatement, if anything “that doesn’t, like, raise any red flags to anyone? That's not _concerning_ at all?”   

 

It’s not, apparently, because Vulko just sighs “I cannot make you accept our laws, Arthur, I can only explain to you their genesis and the purpose they have served in keeping Atlantis safe and untouched by those who might wish to harm it”

 

which, to Arthur, is pretty much bullshit

 

“Sacrificing queens, rings of fire, war hungry 'ocean masters'--none of that is screaming _safe and secure_ , but that might just be me” he says, shooting for sarcastic but falling just flat of it.

 

“I never said our way of life was perfect, Arthur-- I think you know that better than any one of us. You have saved Atlantis, but also protected the surface and now it's up to you to build the bridge that will connect the two, that will allow our worlds to finally coexist in harmony. It will require some _revisions_ , no doubt”

 

Which is a pretty tall order, isn't it? or is he just projecting? he isn't quite sure. And really, what does that even mean, anyways? like, in plain english? He wants to ask, though ultimately he decides against it--it’ll all just be more philosophical gibberish anyways

 

Shit needs changing, that much is obvious enough, though what he’s wondering, has been for his entire stay thus far is, _why the hell do they think I'm the one to do it?_

 

Shiny gold tridents and birth rights aside, he’s studied enough history to know that kings always end up disappointing, one way or another. Failed wars, famines, misguided policy, all of the above...and those are just the _competent_ ones. Sure he's saved his fair share of people, even the world a handful of times, and _yes_ the scary monster let him pass, and the old mystical dead guy kind of gave him his blessing but from that to _ruling a kingdom_?  What are even the logistics of that?      

As if reading his mind, which Arthur is really starting to suspect is actually a thing down here, Vulko studies him for a moment before offering him a knowing look

 

“Some might be born to lead, Arthur, but no one is born knowing how to rule” which, to his credit, makes a lot more sense than anything he’s said in the last couple days--

 

_And yet_

 

He feels like a boy again, not a king, stuck on a beach that seems so endless, passing test after test, just to find that it isn't ever quite enough. He feels stranded there, his toes deep in the sand, body warm with something intangible making a nest inside, festering away in some dark corner of his soul-- _guilt, self-doubt, fear_ , it's all the same kind of carnage and it _hurts_ , despite how many times people tell him he's a hero

 

He wants to ask if its normal to feel so afraid, even now that the fighting is over, to feel like he’s drowning, even as he treads water so easily.

 

He doesn’t though, ask, that is, mostly because something in Vulko's wise hooded eyes already tells him _‘yes’_

 

So instead, Arthur just nods, gripping his trident for the sake of keeping himself in one piece

 

“Well we better get to work then, old man”


End file.
